it, or used to be so
when we were smaller. There's everything you can think of in it, down to
the tiniest cups and saucers.

The tea was very jolly. There were buns and cakes, and awfully good
sandwiches. I remember that particular tea, you see, though we went to
Mrs. Wylie's often after that, because it was the first time. The cups
_were_ rather small, but it didn't matter, for as soon as ever one was
empty she offered us more. I would really be almost ashamed to say how
many times mine was filled.

And Mrs. Wylie was very interesting to talk to. She had never had any
children of her own, she told us, and her husband had been dead a long
time. I think he had been a sailor, for she had lots of curiosities:
queer shells, all beautifully arranged in a cabinet, and a book full of
pressed and dried seaweed, and stuffed birds in cases. I don't care for
stuffed birds: they look too alive, and it seems horrid for them not to
be able to fly about and sing. Peterkin took a great fancy to some of
the very tiny ones--humming-birds, scarcely bigger than butterflies;
and, long afterwards, when we went to live in London, Mrs. Wylie gave
him a present of a branch with three beauties on it, inside a glass
case. He has it now in his own room. And she gave me four great big
shells, all coloured like a rainbow, which I still have on my
mantelpiece.

Once or twice--I'm going back now to that first time we went to have tea
with her--I tried to get the talk back to the little girl. I asked the
old lady if she wouldn't like to have a parrot of her own. I thought it
would be so amusing. But she said No; she didn't think she would care to
have one. The one next door was almost as good, and gave her no trouble
or anxiety.

And then Peterkin asked her if there were any children next door. Mrs.
Wylie shook her head.

'No,' she said. 'The parrot's mistress is an old maid--not nearly as old
as I am, all the same, but she lives quite alone; and on the other side
there are two brothers and a sister, quite young, unmarried people.'

'And is the--the little girl the only little girl or boy in _her_
house?' asked Peterkin.

He did stumble a bit over asking it, for it had been very plain that
Mrs. Wylie did not want to speak about her; but I got quite hot when I
heard him, and if we had been on the same side of the table, or if his
legs had been as long as they are now, I'd have given him a good kick to
shut him up.

Our old lady was too good-